


Impossible to Please

by Samayla



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Post Series, York Society of Magicians - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 09:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14210184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samayla/pseuds/Samayla
Summary: Written for a dialogue prompt on Tumblr.Childermass/Vinculus, platonic“When this is all over, I want my sanity back.”*Also check out the awesome podfic version of this story, read by Tipsy_Kitty and linked at the end!





	Impossible to Please

“You cannot be serious.”

Vinculus stared blithely at Childermass’ reflection behind his shoulder in the mirror. “Why not?” he asked. He twirled, sending the tails of his new frock coat fanning out around his body. He was excessively proud of the coat, and more than a little put out that Childermass did not seem to share his appreciation of it, though looking at his companion’s plain black coat, Vinculus reflected that it might be rather rich for the man’s taste. It was rust-red velvet, and generously trimmed in silver and gold brocade at the cuffs, around the collar, and all along the tails, so that when he turned or moved, the trim flashed pleasingly in the candlelight. He felt rather like an elemental spirit, all quickness and fire, while Childermass lurked behind him, a disapproving shadow.

In the mirror, Childermass rolled his eyes. “Finish getting ready,” was all he said. No comment on the coat, or how well he thought Vinculus looked in it, or how the venerable gentlemen at the York Society of Magicians would be sure to be impressed.

“I am ready,” Vinculus answered with a flourishing bow. The candlelight flashed off his cuffs most dramatically, so he did it again.

Instead of commenting on the dashing trim of Vinculus’ new coat, Childermass asked about his new trousers.

“They’re my old trousers,” he answered. He lifted the tails of his coat out of the way so he could check the progress of the hole in the seat of them. It didn’t seem much bigger than it had the day before, and his coattails covered it admirably, and so he felt perfectly satisfied with the state of his trousers. He caught the look on Childermass’ face in the mirror, however, and felt obliged to explain himself. “These’re my lucky trousers.” At Childermass’ blank look, he continued. “Seen me to the next life and back again, didn’t they? Didn’t even mess ‘em when I was hanged. Luck like that must be respected.”

Childermass conceded that point without comment, but naturally, he proceeded at once to a new argument entirely and informed Vinculus that he must put on a shirt.

“What for?” Vinculus demanded, utterly perplexed. “I’ve just got to take it off again ten minutes into the meeting.”

Childermass answered that the other gentlemen would expect him to come fully dressed, to which Vinculus scoffed and straightened his jacket primly. If the other gentlemen were not impressed by his coat, they would not be impressed by any thing, and they could all hang, as far as Vinculus was concerned. “And there are ladies present at these meetings now,” Childermass continued. “More each month. Have you no consideration for their sensibilities?”

Vinculus waved that concern away like a pesky insect, admiring the sparking of the candlelight against his cuff again. “Lady magicians are a different breed, Childermass, as you ought to know.”

Vinculus peered around for his old hat to top off his outfit, thinking to himself how well the faded old rosette upon the brim would look with his new coat, and so he missed the peculiar little twitch of Childermass’ hands in the mirror.

“The lady magicians might well be different,” Childermass conceded, beginning to see sense at last, “but their fathers, brothers, and husbands are not. What of them?”

Vinculus granted him the point. He had plenty of experience with disgruntled male relatives, and was not particularly anxious to repeat any such encounter. “You got a shirt I can borrow?” he called after Childermass, who had turned to go, no doubt satisfied that his every little demand would now be seen to.

“What? Where is your new shirt?”

“Ain’t got one, do I?” Vinculus answered absently. “Spent the whole of my allowance on my dashing new coat.” He twirled again and watched the tails flare in the mirror. Having spotted his hat at last, he reached out to snatch it with a flourish that set his cuffs flashing once more.

But there was nothing there.

Rather, there was something there, but it was not quite his hat. It was the same size and shape as his hat, but the rosette was on the wrong side, as was the frayed patch where a donkey had bitten the brim. A horrible suspicion forming in Vinculus’ mind, he reached out to touch the hat-that-was-not-his-hat, but his fingers met only empty air.

“What have you done to my hat?” Vinculus cried, trying again to pick it up off the table. He whirled to the mirror. “It’s in there, isn’t it? You’ve swapped it with its reflection, you beast! That’s my favorite hat!”

But Childermass had gone already, presumably to fetch Vinculus a shirt.

—

“ _Get ready to go, Vinculus. Put on a shirt, Vinculus. Leave off the hat, Vinculus._  Never ends with him, does it?” Vinculus stuffed an arm back into his coat, even its glorious trim not enough to elevate his mood any longer.

“ _Got to look our best, Vinculus. There’ll be ladies present, Vinculus.”_ He shoved his other arm into the coat and tugged it straight, cringing at the combined effect the new coat and borrowed shirt created in the mirror.

“I bend over backward to make him happy, bow to his every absurd little demand, and what does he give me? Heartache!  _It’s white, Vinculus_. White, my tattooed arse! Heartache! With this red? Honestly!” He tugged his new, rosette-free hat onto his head without bothering to check that it was on straight. He started for the door, still fuming to himself over the oppressive, ill-humored, capricious bear of a man that was John Childermass.

“When this is all over, I want my sanity back. And my hat!”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Impossible to Please | written by samayla](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245868) by [Tipsy_Kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty)




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